It's Glorious
by nichelle.hp
Summary: The TRUE life and lies of Albus Dumbledore... and the man he loved.  Takes place from Gellert's arrival to Arianna's death. Rating may change as chapters get more intimate.
1. Chapter 1

_**Disclaimer**: JKR is God. I am not._

_**Author's Note**: I've wanted to write an Albus/Gellert fic for ages, but it's such a dense period of time and so much has to happen, I've been putting this off. I got out this first chapter and there will definitely be more to come, but I don't know how long it will take. I live for reviews! I've also realized - a little late - that this all is supposed to take place in the late 1800s, but I've decided to not care. It's just gonna not really have a specific time period at all, but all stick to the facts that Jo gave us, with my own stuff thrown in, of course. Enjoy!_

* * *

Albus Dumbledore squinted against the light of the sun that was just beginning to intrude on the wet, chilly dim of early morning. He'd been out here all night, watching the stars pop out the moon sidle lazily across its path across the velvety tapestry above him. He didn't feel like sleeping. He didn't feel like moving or speaking or thinking. And this wasn't the first night he'd done this. He'd long since lost feeling in his bottom and his left leg had drifted off to sleep, tiny prickles running through his veins instead of blood. But he liked it. He liked the chilly summer breeze in the middle of the night that pulled at his skin and bit at his nose. He liked the carapace of darkness that wrapped him up, protecting him like he imagined a mother's arms would. He even liked the numb discomfort. It made him feel as though he was apart from the body he hated.

The early summer night welcomed him into its solace and materialized what he felt: that he was completely alone in the world.

Godric's Hollow was dark at night; he could barely see the house next door or the silhouette of the old church a few blocks before him when the night was at its' deepest. But now, the sun was coming up and chasing away all the tiny little pinpricks that made up the pictures in the sky. He could name them all so well. They reminded him of Hogwarts.

The little town was being thawed out from the icy night. He was warmed all over and he let his heavy eyelids slide closed, the pristine quiet encroached upon by the sanguine chirping of the birds that began to lull him into slumber.

The weight of a small hand startled him out of sleep before he even realized he'd drifted off. As though through a mirror image, the blue eyes of his sister gazed into his, full of a curiosity and innocence and passion Albus would never fully appreciate until it was too late. Ariana was still in her plain pink nightgown. She must have seen him sitting there from her window. Disliking the idea of company, especially of someone who needed so much attention that he wasn't willing to give, he stood and ushered her brusquely back into the house.

As they entered the den on the way back to her bedroom, she pulled towards the bookshelf, touching the row of thin readers on the very bottom shelf that mother used to read to her. "We're not reading now," Albus croaked in a detached and unfamiliar voice. He didn't feel like being patient with her. He felt like going back outside, into the sanctuary of isolation he'd made for himself. "We're going back to sleep. Come on."

But Ariana had her heart set on reading. She wrenched her wrist from his fingers with unusual strength and pulled a book off the shelf. In her condition, she was tiny for her age and the book looked much too large for her. But she held it up to him, a shadow of hopefulness on her face.

"No," Albus grunted firmly, taking the book from her perhaps a little rougher than he had meant to and pushed it back. "Bedtime." Ariana made a strange, oddly loud squawk of disapproval, dodged his hand at abnormal speed, and swiped the book back up, holding it up to him with both of her small hands.

"Cut it out!" Albus had known not to raise his voice, but he did it anyway.

Ariana's face had changed before her eldest brother realized his infraction. "No…" Albus groaned, dropping to his knees in front of her to try and comfort her before it happened.

Resembling something more like a demon then a child, her red eyes pierced him, incensed, and her face was flushed. Tiny fingers clenched on the book and Ariana shook with anger. The acrid smell of burning paper reached his long nose. Albus swore under his breath as the pages suddenly exploded from the cover, raining down on them in tiny shreds. One by one the books behind her began to explode, a loud bang like a gun blast accompanying each detonation of Ariana's storybooks.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Albus pleaded feebly. He reached out his arms to her, afraid to touch her, but not knowing what else to do. It was always mother who dealt with Ariana's outbursts – he'd never been alone with his sister during one before. She shook terribly, grunting and shrieking with each bit of magic that forced itself out of her.

"Ari!"

Aberforth ran into the room, pushing Albus over as he rushed to Ariana. The younger boy looked as though he'd just woken as well, and while Albus sat helplessly where he'd fallen, Aberforth made every attempt to calm their sister. "Shhh… It's all right! He didn't mean any harm; I'm here now, it's all right!"

He was just barely heard over the explosions, and when Ariana's eyes had returned to blue and her shaking began to recede, Aberforth swept her into his arms. He rocked her back and forth, from side to side, shh-ing and murmuring into her hair. Ariana was buried in his arms, unseen. It took only moments for her to be pacified. Her tantrum was over. Bits of smoking pages continued to fall like snow onto the carpet; aside from that, all was still again.

Without looking at his older brother, Aberforth picked Ariana up and turned to leave. Over Aberforths' shoulder, Albus saw Ariana was asleep, her pale face splotchy with red and streaked with tear tracks. Her tiny fists were griping Aberforths' sleeves, just below his shoulders and her face pressed into his shoulder.

Albus's heart broke a little more than it had been already, watching the two of them ascend the stairs to the bedrooms together. Ariana loved Aberforth and Aberforth simply adored Ariana. It had been that way since they had parents and had become stronger now that it was just the three of them.

Albus was embarrassed that he couldn't calm Ariana on his own; he felt stupid sitting there alone in the littered room. He pressed the heels his long-fingered hands against his closed eyes.

Thoughts weren't streaming neatly through his head like they usually were; but they were all smushed in there together under his dark red hair, stumbling around in circle after circle until he couldn't make sense of any of them. He couldn't decide if he missed his parents or just wanted them back to make things easier. He couldn't tell how he'd raise his fifteen-year old brother alone, along with a magical time bomb with the mind of a seven-year-old. He couldn't tell if he was scared of this or not; this gargantuan change that the death of his mother made in his life.

All he knew for sure was that as the oldest, it was up to him to take care of everyone, and to keep up with the lies that fabricated his life. And yet, with brains like his, brilliance like this… There simply had to be a way. He had to escape this house, this town, this responsibility. Babysitting was not the job for someone like him.

Deep down, he loved his brother and sister, truly. But guilt was really the only thing binding him to this house.

Getting to his feet at last, he waved his wand to vanish the remnants of Ariana's outburst. It saddened him that all her books had been destroyed; it'll appear quite curious if he were to go into the bookstore in town and replace them all. People in this town were startlingly nosy. He'd figure something out for her; being read to was Ariana's favorite activity. He wondered if she really understood the stories; if she could see everything as clearly in her minds' eye as everyone else.

Absently, he realized something else had also been destroyed – the portrait of his mother that sat on the shelf just above Ariana's books. The glass had cracked, splintered like frozen fingers or spiders' legs across Kendra's strong face. Ariana's magic acting upon it had canceled out the magic that made the image move, so his mother stood quite still, even though the edges smoldered slowly, the rim of fire eating its way through the photograph – it had gotten just the tail end of the childs' fury. Gently, Albus blew the dying embers out, repaired the glass, but couldn't make the picture move again. Blue eyes blazing with hatred at Kendra for leaving them, he laid the frame down, hiding the face he stared at, lying in a casket, only weeks ago.

It was still quite early in the morning, and the utter silence in the house told him he was, again, the only one awake. Yet this quiet was different. Not serene, but thick. Buzzing. As Albus went upstairs in a resolute sort of way, to perhaps send a few owls, he tried to fight off the feeling that this was going to be a very trying summer.

* * *

Albus loved the smell of ink, and he always felt most complete when there was a quill in his hand, translating his thoughts into beautifully curved imprints of sparkling dark intelligence onto a thick piece of browning parchment. He was never much for poetry, but words entranced him just as much as knowledge alone did. More than half of the books on the shelf where Ariana had gone off were his and he'd read them all at least twice. All by wizard authors and muggle authors and muggle authors pretending to be wizards and wizard authors pretending to be muggles. They were glorious things, books. Full of every kind of knowledge and emotion and story you could hope for.

But now wasn't the time for reading. Albus was writing. Ignoring penmanship, he scribbled away, dashing back and forth across the paper, back and forth from the page to his ink bottle. His father had promised him one of those new self-inking quills before the terribleness began… back when life was normal.

Shaking away thoughts Percival with a small shudder, Albus continued. Elphias was expecting his answer soon; he'd put off this reply for almost a week now and he didn't want Elphias to think he'd forgotten him. Usually there was at least a letter in or out each evening.

Truth be told, if it were up to him, they'd stop this correspondence immediately and let the friendship die. But each of Elphias's letters were more excited and detailed from the last and Albus knew Elphias enjoyed writing to his only friend of his adventures abroad. It was Albus who less than enjoyed writing back; it had been almost a month since his mother died and he realized he would have to stay behind while Elphias went on. Having to recount the daily drudgeries of Godrics' Hollow paled miserably in comparison to the colorful and lively stories Elphias told him.

He had just finished reading today's Daily Prophet was describing a few of the things that had been going on in the wizarding world here when the doorbell rang downstairs.

He heard a small bleat and giggle come from Aberforths' bedroom as he passed it. "What did I tell you about having those things in the house?" Albus hollered through the door.

"Sod off!" came the reply, not much to Albus' surprise. He checked – Ariana was playing placidly with a small doll in her bedroom.

Albus liked Gellert Grindlewald before he knew his name. He had opened the door to little Miss Bathilda Bagshot, the old woman who lived next door. "Hullo," Albus greeted her quietly, standing aside to allow her and the young man she'd brought with her into the house. He was shorter than Albus, golden haired, challenging but not reclusive eyes, a pleasant face. The way he moved reminded Albus of his books; so open, yet hiding something that you had to read all the way through to find.

"How are you holding up, son?" Bathilda said gently once they were in the hall, the skin around her eyes wrinkling terribly as she scrutinized him. She patted his cheek brusquely; her hands were warm, but rough. He forced a good-natured grin.

"We're holding up, Ms. Bagshot."

"Miss working and all that, I'd bet," she asked. "You were never one to sit around the house, Albert, from all the stories your mum used to tell me about you."

Albus blushed, quite used to her making mistakes when it came to names but unaware that his mother used to people things about him. He was also quite embarrassed once he realized he was blushing, glancing at the boy standing over her shoulder. He was wearing a light traveling cloak as it was summer, dark clothes underneath, and a chain around his neck; on which Albus couldn't see what.

"Oh!" Bathilda chuckled, seeing where Albus's eyes had drifted. "Nearly lost forgot: this is my great nephew, Gellert Grindlewald; come all the way from Germany on a bit of a… holiday." She put her arm out and pulled him forward, but released him rather quickly. Gellert gave Albus a curious smile: otherwise normal for two teenage boys first meeting, but his eyes lingered on Albus's too long. They shook hands.

"He's your age," Bathilda continued. "And I thought maybe you two would make a fine pair. Keep each other company. I'm not much for entertaining children anymore, I fear."

Albus wasn't sure what to say. But he found himself standing beside the fair-haired boy as Bathilda trotted off back home, obviously quite pleased that she'd found Albus a companion.

"She's well off her rocker," Gellert muttered. His voice was tinged with German. Albus gave a small snort of laughter. There was a pregnant pause. "She said you've got a brother and sister?"

Albus's teeth clenched. He thought of his brother up there with one of the goats and his sister, fourteen years old and incapable of any ability beyond a seven year old. "You wouldn't want to meet them," he muttered.

"Why not?" Gellert responded, sounding genuinely interested.

"They're, er, not really… normal," Albus muttered, having a feeling this wouldn't pacify the other boys' curiosity.

"Who is? C'mon, if I'm going to be forced over here you might as well show me some hospitality," he said, not unkindly. In fact, Gellert was grinning wider than ever – joking. Albus hadn't heard anyone joke in quite a long time. Without looking at him and regretting every step he took, he led Gellert upstairs.

Ariana was still playing with her doll, a lifeless muggle thing that she had taken a liking to years ago. Kendra tried to get her to play with normal, wizard toys – tops that never tipped over and broomsticks that hovered – but she preferred the lifeless ragdoll. Albus supposed she liked the fact that it moved when she wanted it to and couldn't surprise her. "That's Ariana," Albus said, both boys huddled in the doorway.

"What's wrong with her?" Gellert asked softly. Albus frowned. Usually it took longer for people to realize something wasn't right about her.

"Brain damage. Affects her magic," Albus said cleanly, trying to make it sound like not such a big deal. He was glad Gellert didn't ask anything thing else about her, but continued to gaze at her like a botched experiment he couldn't explain.

"Aberforth is through here," Albus said, leading Gellert away from the door, though the shorter boy lingered for a moment. Albus knocked. "Company. Come out."

"No."

"What the hell are you doing in there?"

"Me and Agatha want to be alone!"

"Agatha?" Gellert queried, a hint of teenage joviality in his voice.

Albus hesitated. "His goat."

Gellert blinked.

And suddenly, he was laughing; really, indisputably laughing. His head was thrown back and he was clutching his stomach, leaning against the wall for support. It wasn't a patronizing laugh, but almost a laugh of disbelief. And then Albus was laughing too; for once in his life realizing how truly absurd it must sound to be have a little brother who locks himself in his room with a goat.

"I think-" Gellert wheezed after a moment, setting his hand on Albus's shoulder as they both calmed down, grinning stupidly still. "You and I are going to get on just fine."


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **_**JKR is God. I am not.**_

**Author's Notes:**_** You lot are awesome! I got so little feedback at first, I barely had the heart to post the next chapter. I'm really glad you like it and am especially glad you like Grindelwald. I definitely wanted to make Gellert fun and sweet enough that Albus could have liked and fallen in love with him, but a little mad and twisted – to the point where he could have become a mass-murderer. I was too tired to proofread this a second time so I'm sorry for any errors. Happy reading! R&R!**_

* * *

Gellert Grindelwald stayed for the entire rest of the day. They sat in the sitting room and talked. At one point, Aberforth could be heard in the kitchen; Albus had forgotten to prepare dinner. However, no one complained. He assumed Aberforth was feeding himself and Arianna. Good. They deserve each other. Let them look after themselves for a while. He wasn't all that hungry and besides, he couldn't tear his attention from the boy before him if he wanted to.

It was as though he had found a smaller, cheerier, less bookish and more German version of himself. He'd been brilliant at school without ever opening a book. They were intrigued by all the same magical theories and principles. Gellert had lost his parents recently also. And, like Albus, he felt burdened by the weight of his own thoughts and ideas. Guilty to cast his friends in shadow. Impatient with the protected, mediocre life of a teenager.

Once night had fallen, they realized they were sitting in darkness. Albus found time sped up when around Gellert. He took his new friend out to the backyard, where the stars once again flecked the sky. "It is too bright back home to see this many stars," Gellert said quietly, his head thrown back to take in the sight.

Albus sat and Gellert followed suit.

"Why'd you leave school?" Albus asked after a few moments of companionable silence. During their conversation, Gellert revealed that he was actually only sixteen and didn't intend on returning to Durmstrang for year seven.

"As a kid, we were near a city so you couldn't see stars. Even at Durmstrang, it's usually too cold to go out at night. It's beautiful…"

"Gellert." Albus felt as though he shouldn't prod, but just from the past few hours, he understood Gellert to be quite straightforward. That he was avoiding the question meant there was something there to avoid.

"Albus," Gellert replied, a smile tugging at his lips. Albus didn't say anything. He stared at Gellert, waiting. Small success: in the dim light he saw Gellert roll his eyes.

"Expelled." He still gazed at the sky, unabashed. Albus was startled. He knew of Durmstrang and its reputation with the Dark Arts. There was little you could do there that would warrant serious worry. How could anyone, let along this bright, amicable person, have gotten himself expelled?

"For what?" His voiced betrayed more awe than intended.

"Eef I tell you, zen I'll haf to keel you…" Gellert murmured at the sky, thickening his German accent on purpose to sound menacing.

"Come on…"

Gellert looked at him very suddenly, obviously tired of playing. Few people had the power to make Albus uncomfortable. Gellert was one of them; he seemed to be x-raying Albus with his gaze. Albus suddenly regretted his nettling.

"Do you tell your secrets to people you've only known a few hours?" Gellert asked, his expression completely blank for the first time that day. Barren and serious. Albus stared at him. How odd they must have looked, two teenage boys, sitting in the grass, cross-legged, elbows on knees, staring each other in the face.

"I did."

Gellerts' forehead creased in confusion.

"Arianna. And my dad. No one knows about that but your aunt, me and Aberforth." He paused. "And now you. I told you _two_ of my secrets. You owe me at least this one."

It seemed for a moment as though Gellert would refuse to give in. Albus desperately kept eye-contact, challenging the other boy to refute his logic. He couldn't understand why he felt such ease in telling Gellert about his family. It was like unblocking a clogged pipe; the water can't help but rush forth and out. Only after did he realize just how much water he wasted and now, he had to rectify it by leveling the playing field. Albus was never one to allow someone to have an advantage over him and this was the only thing about which Gellert had been secretive.

Suddenly, Gellert looked downwards at the grass with … shame? Fear? Albus waited.

"I was… uh… experimenting. They didn't like it."

Gellert sighed.

"No one understood. They all took it to be murderous, mad stuff. I have this… dream, you see. More like a plan. I was working on inventing spells, potions, all kinds of…" He trailed off and looked up at Albus, who was watching him expectantly. "Everyone thought I was just off my nut at first. You know, thought I was just venting pent-up emotions or whatever. 'Bout my parents. _But I wasn't. _It was so much more." He was almost pleading the other boy to understand. Gazing at a spot over Albus' shoulder, he had suddenly gained more of the fire he had had in the sitting room, while they were discussing more trivial things. "I was trying to expand my magical knowledge. All this 'Wingardium Leviosa' and 'Felix Felicis' crap is good for normal people. But for people like me—people like us…" He looked Albus straight in the eyes and for the first time, Albus thought the other boy _did_ look a bit mad. "We're destined for so much more. We _must_ push the boundaries. There's so much out there and the possibilities are staring us in the face, but everyone is ignoring it! There's more to know than what's in the books they teach us from. By fifth year, I'd learned all I needed from Durmstrang. I was bored, so I started taking magical education into my own hands." His attention and energy level lowered; he was shamefully focused on the ground again. "But they didn't understand. Reckoned I was dangerous and chucked me out."

Albus didn't say anything. Whenever he expressed innovation or thought beyond his years, he was met with press and awards and congratulations. He couldn't possibly imagine what it must have felt like to be trapped, alone, inside one's own brilliance. Misunderstood… even disliked.

"OI!" Both boys' heads whipped round towards the house. Aberforth was standing in the doorway leading into the yard. "Owl from Old Baggie." He waved the small parchment he held in his hand. "She reckons he ought to head home." He jerked his head towards Gellert and went back inside.

The boys looked at each other. "So, now you know all you need to know," Gellert said, clapping his hands on his knees crisply. "Oh, and I'm gay. I suppose that made them want to get rid of me all the more."

Albus' eyebrows disappeared up into his hair. Despite the dark, Gellert must have noticed Albus' shock. Perhaps because of it, perhaps in spite of it, Gellert grinned and winked at him before jumping up and retreating into the house, leaving Albus alone again in the chilly lawn.

For the second consecutive night, Albus spent the night in the backyard. He woke to a warm, pinkish-purple sky. He ground was hard and cold under his shoulders and as he sat up, he cringed: there was a numbing pain in his neck. He was never good with medical magic and he knew it would the death of him some day.

After a long hot shower he fixed himself some tea and an egg sandwich. They were out of quite a lot; he sniffed the milk, gagged and decided he must go into the square for groceries today. He next climbed the stairs to check on his siblings. Holding his nose, he opened Aberforths' bedroom door. He was startled to see his sister curled up in the large bed, surrounded by oats and wisps of hay. He wrinkled his nose; he couldn't stand the way his brother lived. His room should be condemned. Not wanting to wake Arianna, he left her there. Where was Aberforth?

Sidling downstairs back downstairs, he heard the front door open. His brother, laden with brown paper bags, glared at him.

"Have fun with your boyfriend last night, Al?"

Albus shot him a look so furious that Alberforth cowered a little and went into the kitchen without another word.

So he was real… Having woken in the yard, he had assumed the entire previous day had been an odd, blissful dream. It wouldn't have been the first time he'd fantasized about having a friend. Fantasized about someone like him coming to console or. Or about someone who wasn't particularly into the female gender…

Almost as though worrying his brother may hear his thoughts, he went to his room. It was the largest, aside from the one his parents had shared. Every surface of wall, aside from the windows and doors, were lined with books. Essentially, his bedroom was a library with a bed. His father had always joked that if he ever did get married, it would probably be to a librarian. Needless to say, Madame Pince wasn't necessarily Albus' type.

Albus sat on his bed, cold after two nights' separation, as all the feelings of the night before washed over him again, intensified with retrospect. Gellert had been… insurmountably fantastic. Everything he needed. And… had he really said… gay? Though Albus had refused to admit the inevitable to himself, and certainly did not believe in "signs", that particular fact seemed _extremely_ significant. Over the past year, while Elphias had been sighing over the girls in their year, Albus couldn't make himself take notice. While Elphias encouraged him to accept the dates he was offered, he brushed them off as harlots only attracted to his growing notoriety. But, though he found it useless to share with Elphias, he simply didn't find himself raging with sexual hormones the way his peers were.

"Just try thinking about it, you'll see!" Elphias had squeaked one afternoon when Albus had shared this uncertain truth.

Albus glanced at him over his quill. "Thinking about what?"

"You know… it!" Albus frowned as Elphias grinned at him, waggling his bushy eyebrows.

And he had. Many times. He tried to envision himself in the act. Tried to envision naked women, bouncing around the way Elphias described in the dirty stories he shared with their dorm mates. Tried to envision all the things that sent Elphias and the rest batty, but there was never any significant result. And as any scientist knows, a failed test is not a test wasted, but information gained.

Women simply did not excite him.

But he had no evidence to support that men did. Except Gellert… But that was a different excitement. Companionable, not sexual. But then again, he never imagined Gellert naked, bouncing around…

Albus passed a hand over his face and banished that thought from his mind before it could take form.

"I'm asexual. Like a flobberworm," Albus muttered. "Better than the alternative, I suppose."

_Tap! Tap! Tap!_

Albus looked up. Gellert's face smiling at him from outside his window. His second story window.

Crossing the room in three quick strides, Albus forced the pane up and looked down to see what was holding Gellert up. Nothing. He was simply floating in air by the side of the house, arms folded, looking smug.

"Cheer up, bucko! Why the long face?"

"A combination of a self-inflicted hover charm and modified _Levicorpus_," Albus muttered after the initial surprise ebbed. He could tell by the way Gellert bobbed up and down and how only one of his legs was vertical; the other drifted slightly off to the side. "Was this one of the little experiments that got you kicked out of school?"

Gellert scoffed. "Dumbledore, you underestimate me! This was tame…"

After Gellert climbed through the window, the boys spent the better part of the day alone in Albus' room. He remained on the bed, placidly watching Gellert peruse his bookshelves. He allowed his guest to do most of the talking, partly because he liked to listen to him and partly because he wouldn't have been able to shut him up if he wanted to.

The sun had started its descent on the other side of the house when Gellert asked, "You don't happen to have a copy of Beedle the Bard, do you?"

Albus frowned. "I don't. Arianna does. Why? It's a kids book."

Gellert hesitated, a calculating look on his face as he gazed at the older boy. "Yeah, you're right," he said with a smile. He turned back to the bookshelves. "Had it as a kid, though, thought it would be nice to take another look."

Downstairs, Albus salvaged 'The Tales of Beedle the Bard' from Arianna's bookshelf. It had suffered slight damage from Arianna's fit. Its binding was stained and peeling and there were ancient symbols on the cover. Gellert took it in his hands like a wounded bird and peeled back the pages. He stopped at "The Tale of the Three Brothers". He gazes, rapt, at the tome for a few moments. Albus waited.

"Did you know that Ignotus Peverell lived in Godrics' Hollow?"

Albus was unsure whether Gellert was speaking to him or the book. He decided to go with the former.

"Ignotus Peverell?"

"The youngest brother in this story," Gellert explained, still not tearing his eyes away from the yellowing pages. "The one who chose the Invisibility Cloak. He lived here. Years and years ago." He looked sharply up at Albus. "You've never heard about it? Someone must have mentioned it at one point or another. They aren't exactly famous, the Peverell's, among normal wizards at least, but they were still a noteable magical family. _Someone_ must have mentioned it to you."

Albus frowned. "What do you mean, 'normal wizards'."

Gellert closed the book slowly, looking at Albus intently. He felt suddenly as though whatever Gellert was about to tell him must be something essential. Something extremely important. Most likely, the reason he'd travelled to Godrics' Hollow in the first place.

"The items in this story – The Deathly Hallows – as they are called by Questers, actually exist, Albus. There are people, the Questers, who believe in them and want to find them for selfish, stupid reasons. To protect themselves and their loved ones from death. But they are fools. The one who unites the Deathly Hallows will be the most powerful being there could be. And with that power, so much could be done."

Albus stared at him. He looked insane, gripping the book in his hands and staring off at a point over Albus' shoulder as he spoke. He was tense and Albus could have sworn he was holding his breath. There was a look in his eyes that was foreign to Albus… his eyes were wide and intense, as though he was trying to look into a bright light without blinking. It scared him a bit. Suddenly, he looked at Albus.

"You think I'm crazy, don't you?"

"No," Albus lied quietly.

Gellert looked now much more like himself. He grinned and his body relaxed. "Come on, Dumbledore, you think I'm not even a half-way decent legillimens? Everyone thinks I'm mad when they hear I believe in this. But the evidence is there, Albus!" He rapped his knuckles hard on the book. "You, the greatest young European scholar of the age, you've got to trust historical evidence. I _need_ you to."

Albus frowned. He was starting to dislike Gellert with every word spoken. He was babbling on about mythical, impossible objects as though they were some sort of case study. "Why do you-"

"I came to Godrics' Hollow for specific reasons, not just for a holiday like my batty old aunt thinks." Gellert crossed and sat down on the couch. Albus followed helplessly. Despite how much Gellert was beginning to scare him, he was nonetheless intrigued. Gellert looked at Albus and the latter was suddenly strongly reminded of the way Anna Bellamy from History of Magic looked at him at the top of the Astronomy Tower on their second date before she started snogging him. "One of the reasons I came was for you." Albus' heart leapt into his throat.

"M-me?" he stammered.

"You're brilliant!" Gellert cried, making Albus jump a little. "Even in Germany, you're a bit of a celebrity among those who read Transfiguration Today and the like. I figured that if I came here, I could get you to help me." Suddenly, he was sad. Gellert seemed to have an uncanny ability to change emotions in a heartbeat. "All the adults won't believe a word I say. Someone my age… I thought you'd understand."

Albus blinked and tried to argue this point rationally, the way he would argue someone who disagreed with one of his theses. "It's a little unlikely, Gellert," he said. "All you have is a story written hundreds of years ago. There's no real proof that these objects are real in the first place. Secondly, if there was proof, someone with much better resources than us would have found them already, wouldn't they? It's a wonderful idea, honestly. But I just can't bring myself to believe they exist."

Gellert looked at him hard for a few moments, then stood, tucking the book under his arm.

"Come with me."


	3. Chapter 3

The graveyard behind the church on the other side of the town, the one that Albus typically tried to avoid was actually, in some ways, beautiful today. Warm summer air lifted the spritely green leaves from the trees. Sunlight illuminated the flowers that had either grown or been placed on and around the gravestones. The grass had recently been cut and felt springy underfoot as Albus followed Gellert into the middle of the cemetery. The latter had pulled the other boy from the house in a hurry, refusing to divulge where they were going or why.

Finally, they stopped at a large, old, flat headstone. It was so old, so deep into the cemetery and so covered in rotten leaves and dirt, Albus doubted anyone had given it any thought for decades. Gellert bent down and brushed off the debris gently as though afraid of waking its owner. The stone was so worn that it was difficult to decipher what had been engraved there. However, Albus could make out what seemed to be a triangular mark beneath a nearly legible name. Gellert looked at Albus expectantly. He clearly hoped that Albus would recognize the significance of this old slab of stone. Albus looked back and shrugged.

"Peverell, Albus! Ignotus Peverell!"

Still, Albus stared. He was beginning to get annoyed. Not since his father had anyone been able to make him feel stupid, so ignorant.

"It's the youngest brother from the story, Albus. He was buried here; he _lived_ here. In Godrics' Hollow. That's why I came."

"To see his headstone?" Albus asked. "What good will that do?"

Gellert shook his head and gestured wildly back towards the town. "The wizards who live here have lived here for generations. One of them must be related to the Peverells'." Again, he spoke this last sentence as though it should cause everything else to make sense. When Albus didn't respond, he sighed heavily. "This _means_," he said slowly, as though explaining something to a toddler. "Somewhere, in this village, someone has the Cloak. The safest, most useless of all the Hallows. And that, my friend, is where I intend to start."

And so they searched. Albus in tow, Gellert flew from wizarding house to wizarding house. They used fake names, at Gellerts' insistence, but it did little to help. Each time, the door swung shut in their face. After Mr. Whiteshell down at number 12 called them both nutcases and told them to stop bothering nice people with stupid questions, Albus was sure Gellert would give in. Surely they wouldn't get information out of anyone and his companion was beginning to look more and more downtrodden with each unrewarding residence. Of all the faces Gellert had put on in the past two days, Albus never seen him look downtrodden. The image reminded him of a bird caught in the rain; unsteady and sodden with the weight of rainwater. Perhaps it was because of this, perhaps it was because deep down, he truly wanted to find the Hallows or perhaps it was simply because he was tired of this endless searching, but at number 11, _he_ knocked in place of Gellert.

The door creaked open and a young woman opened the door, no older than twenty-five. Before she could do more than smile and open her mouth to greet them, Albus had his wand pointed between her eyes. Memories of the moments that followed would be constantly and consistently pushed back into Albus's subconscious until he would be sure he dreamt the entire thing.

The girls' smile vanished and Albus saw her right hand twitch. "We don't want to hurt you so don't pull out your wand," he said, not unkindly. "We need to know who in town is related to the Peverells." Her eyes drifted slowly up from the wand tip to Albus' face.

"_That's_ why you've got a wand in my face? What's the matter with you?" she spat, disgusted, and like a switch had been flipped, Albus was ashamed.

But before he could do anything else, Gellert had shouted, "Fortemartis!" and the girl was thrown backwards onto her back. Albus watched as the girl struggled against invisible binds and then began clawing at her face. There seemed to be something unseen over her mouth and nose because although she was struggling, she wasn't screaming and she couldn't touch her face. Gellert advanced on the girl, his wand still aimed at her face.

"Close the door," he said quietly to Albus, who obeyed, stricken with fear. Gellert noticed, because he then said, "It's not hurting her. It's like holding a pillow over someone's face." Indeed, as Gellert spoke, the girl was steadily turning blue.

"Now are you going to tell us what you know?" Gellert spat at her. He twitched his wrist and whatever was smothering the girl seemed to tighten its grip. She started pointing madly off to the left. Albus glanced over, but there was nothing there. Regardless, her hand fell with a thump and her eyes rolled backwards until only white slivers could be seen under her eyelids.

Calmly, Gellert lowered his wand and touched a finger to her throat. "She's alive. Just unconscious." He turned to Albus, who was white as snow and had started to shake. "Perform a memory charm on her and let's go," he muttered, not looking at the girl but turning to the door instead. He looked as distant and cold as Albus had ever seen him, and even, somehow, older.

Albus quickly and shakily muttered, "Ennervate," then, "Ob-Obliviate." Something went wrong, however. Instead of a placid, happy expression, her face took on a grotesque, half-dead look. Her tongue fell open, eyes bulging. She gurgled low in her throat and began to drool. On his haunches beside her, he toppled over backwards and tried to scoot away from her. Gellert was there in a heartbeat, grabbing Albus by the arm. He pulled him up and brought him outside. Albus stared at the house as Gellert dragged him across the street and turned Albus to face him so that his back was to the house instead.

"What did I do to her?" Albus babbled. Regret and shame and horror were bubbling up inside him like lava until he felt he may vomit up every last scorching drop. "I did it wrong, I killed her, I can't believe I—"

Gellert shook him a little by the shoulders. "You didn't kill her, you prat. You got nervous and did the spell wrong but she'll be fine. She's alive."

"Alive, but in what condition!" Albus cried. Gellert clapped a hand over his mouth.

"Shut up, do you want everyone on the street to hear you?"

In a way, he did. He wanted everyone to hear, to come out and fix her and make this go away. Albus had always been able to solve a problem, always been on top of things. Never, _ever_ had he fucked up this badly. "No," he whispered instead.

"Good," said Gellert. "Now she pointed to the house next door, so I'm going to go see what I can get out of them. Wait here before you kill someone else."

Albus glared at him, hurt, but Gellert reached over and pecked his lips before Albus managed to say anything. After that, he didn't need Gellert telling him to stay put to remain rooted to the sidewalk.

* * *

Luckily for them, gossip didn't run rampant in Godrics' Hollow. No connection was made between the girl and the boys who had been knocking on doors. Abigail's body was found three days later, starved to death. The reports attributed her death to an asthma attack. Gellert found this ironic. Albus refused to give an opinion.

Unluckily for them, the family next door hadn't been home. According to Bathilda, they were on holiday up North. Albus was both disappointed a relieved. He was beginning to believe Gellert; how could he not? Gellert was the best thing to ever happen to Albus. For him to be lying, to be mad, to be leading him on… he simply couldn't accept the possibility.

Gellert was extremely disappointed to have hit a dead end. He was now completely convinced that the Potters had the cloak and he was intent on claiming it once they returned. Albus wasn't so sure. After the death of the girl in number 11, Albus wanted no active part in Gellerts' plans.

Gellert had spent the past few days telling Albus about the Hallows, about all the wonderful things he planned on doing with them. Albus was intruiged, but his better nature told him to reject the temptations. He already knew how to make himself invisible, and he believed intellect would trump force every time, but the Resurrection Stone… There were so many possibilities. All the rules of magic dictated, without fault, that it was impossible to bring one back from the dead. And although the Stone didn't do the job completely, it would more than suffice. He could bring his parents back: sentient beings with their same personalities and right minds. The girl in the story had been disturbed by leaving the world in which she now belonged, but Albus was certain that, in life or death, his parents would like nothing better than to be a family again. He would no longer be encumbered by the responsibly of younger kin. He could keep people here forever. He never had to lose another family member again.

However, the consequences frightened him, so he made sure Gellert was unaware of his interest. "Even if they _do_ exist, they're dangerous. Look at what happened to an innocent girl just because we were trying to find _one_," Albus argued one afternoon the following week. Gellert, however, had grown tired of arguing with Albus about the Deathly Hallows. Set against Albus as far as the Hallows were concerned, he developed a new habit; kissing him. At this particular moment, he leaned over the bed on which they were sitting and gently stilled Albus' mouth with his own.

Neither participating nor refusing, Albus sat very still and tried not to forget to breathe.

Gellert was quite good at this, Albus had noticed. He had a very scientific, albeit somewhat adorable – if Albus could use the term without wanting to kick something – way of going about it. Usually, he kissed Albus in order to quiet him or stop him arguing back against the Hallows. He was press his lips to Albus' firmly, as if to tell him to shut up. Then, it was as though he would grow to like it. He would move cautiously, find positions and angles he liked most. He would entertain himself this way, eyes placidly closed, as though Albus, who watched with attentive eyes, wasn't a participant at all. But then, as though he remembered someone else was in the room, he would begin to nip at Albus' bottom lip. It was sort of a game with unspoken rules: Albus would try to resist how this felt, try to resist smiling or moving away and Gellert would keep at it. Sometimes he would briefly flick his tongue along the soft, bruised skin there before going at it again. When Albus did laugh, which he always did, Gellert would reward himself by touching Albus somewhere. Sometimes he would touch his fingertips to Albus' cheek or place a hand on his knee.

And without fail, this would force Albus to move away. But persistence was Gellerts' specialty and he would just repeat the whole thing tomorrow. And the day after that. And after that. And soon, the summer that was once dull and lonely was buzzing around Albus' ears like a Fizzing Whisbee that got away. Gellert was a bright, shiny new thing in Albus' life. His spirits were lifted as Gellert filled his head with tales of his fantastic endeavors at Drumstrang. They spent an inordinate amount of time together, Albus trusting Arianna to Aberforths' care. Between lingering kisses in the quiet of Albus' room, he tried to talk Gellert against looking for more Hallows. And in the span of one afternoon, he finally began to believe.

"What if more people died? This could end badly for us," he said, imagining himself locked in Azkaban, his brother and sister forced to fend for themselves. Dementors had always been one of his largest fears.

"Or it could be magnificent," Gellert would counter. He would adjust himself on Albus's bed, propping himself up on an elbow. His Nordic features, though stoic and usually serious, would turn boyish once he began to think about the Hallows. "Think of all the good we could do."

Albus frowned. "What good? What could we possibly do?"

"We have been given gifts. Nature chooses us, before we are born, to posses this amazing ability to exert power. Muggles have been denied this, but that does not mean we should fear them. We have power we do not; we should not hide from them! We can use them to help us. Find places for them in our world." And it began. Gellert had plans so intricate, ideas so delicately mapped, Albus' doubt began to ebb. He spoke of a world in which muggles were not despised and feared, but controlled and used for the benefit of wizards."

"But throughout history they have tried to kill us. They don't want anything to do with us."

"Yes, but when we use our magic to solve their largest problems – hunger, disease, drought… they will be tripping over themselves to serve us!"

Gellert lay on his back, staring at the ceiling as though he could see his new reality reflected there. "Imagine it. A world with wizards at the top, free from fear of discovery. No more laws about where we can and cannot live. No more restricting the habitats of our creatures. The world will be ours." He took Albus' hand in his. It was warm and soft. Bodily contact had been rare in Albus' life. While he knew of his mothers' love, she was not one to cuddle and hug. It was nice to know otherwise; warm physical contact with no hidden agenda, but that meant a fondness. Camaraderie. Love.

"How will get the Ministry to support us?"

A smile broke over Gellerts face, so wide, Albus thought his cheeks may crack.

"Once we have the Hallows, my friend, no Ministry will be any match for us."

That night, Albus was wrenched out of sleep by a tap at the window. He had received a letter from Gellert.

_Albus, _

_Your question about the Ministry got me thinking. Once we have found the Hallows and united them, we will indeed need a plan for infiltrating the magical government. This is precisely why I inquired after your help! We shall need to take over the Minister eventually, through whatever means are necessary. His word is accepted by all. However, our ideas must bleed through to the people in a slow, steady manner. We cannot change the world in a day. We shall need to take over lower levels of the Ministry and began to communicate our ideas to the people through trusty means. By the time we get to the Minister – through the Imperius curse, I believe – half the world would have already been done. _

_Gellert._

Albus stared blearily at the letter. The Imperius Curse? An Unforgivable Curse? Images of hooded, soul-sucking figures invaded his mind once again. He sunk into his desk chair. Perhaps in Germany, the Unforgiveable Curses were not has abhorred as they were in the West. He grabbed up a quill and ink and scribbled his reply under Gellerts' message.

_Gellert,_

_Surely we can come by our goals via legal means? What kind of leaders would we be to take over with Unforgivable Curses? We have established laws against this kind of magic for a reason. Must we turn into the kinds of monsters the muggles fear? _

_Albus. _

Almost immediately, an owl returned with Gellerts' neat handwriting covering the back of the letter.

_Albus, _

_We have been given magic for a reason, Albus. Once we have restored the balance of the world, we will free all those who we had cursed and let them joint he revolution of their own free will. Force must be exerted in order to get the ball rolling, my friend. Once we have established a foothold, we will be able to let the people choose for themselves. _

_Gellert_

They wrote back and forth for the better part of the night. Each one of Albus' arguments grew weaker and weaker, from a combination of drowsiness and Gellerts' logic. By the end of the night, they had devised a checklist of sorts for their first major step to domination. The parchment on which it was scrawled was covered in cross-outs and revisions until the final draft was barely legible.

1. Distribute ideas of muggle subservience in the Prophet.

2. Propose changes in laws concerning treatment of Muggles, restriction of magical creatures.

3. Confront historians – get them on our side.

4. Turn all Heads of Departments within the Ministry.

5. Turn Minister.

6. Pronounce ourselves Ministers.

7. Turn Ministers of all major magical countries of the world.

* * *

In Albus and Gellerts' discussions of the Hallows and their various uses in their new world order, there was mention of the cloak only once.

"We must use Hallows at any given opportunity," Gellert would lecture. "The wand will be our main insurance. All shall fear and respect us and the power we possess. Never forget that anyone we hurt is only one person in the face of the greater good." Whenever he would say this, Albus would get a shiver through his spine and his stomach would seem to fill with warm air. He felt large, important things stirring and it excited him like nothing else. Or perhaps it was _Gellert_ that excited him so. He tried not to consciously make the distinction.

"The stone will be how we gain followers' trust. We will show the wizards and muggles how we can bring back their loved ones," Gellert explained as he helped Albus prepare dinner one night. (Albus insisted that if he hang about all the time, he may as well be helpful.) "We will gain their trust by granting their wishes and reuniting them with their dead. They were revere us as gods and be much less likely to lash out against us."

Albus, chopping vegetables with his wand, merely listened. These were all Gellerts' wonderful ideas. Albus felt like he was helping only when he pointed out flaws or possible pitfalls on their way to victory. His cynicism only made Gellert plot twice as hard.

"And what about the cloak?" Albus interrupted after a while. Gellert paused, then shrugged and went back to chopping his carrots into uneven chunks. "We won't need it. We only need it to complete the trinity, really."

Albus dumped the celery pieces into the pot, then took the knife and carrots from Gellert in order to repair some of the damage. "Maybe I could use it to hide my sister," he said quietly. "Keep her safe. We're bound to make a few enemies, aren't we? Aberforth can take care of himself… her, I'm not so sure."

Gellert didn't say anything. They had always spent so much time talking about Gellerts past or about the Hallows; Albus never really brought up his siblings.

He felt Gellerts arm around his middle and his chin rest against his shoulder. "Sounds like a good idea," he said quietly. Albus could feel his breath on his neck and a few sparks bounded out of his wand.

Flustered, Albus moved away from his grasp. He didn't want either of his siblings walking in on them.

"You're going to have to come to grips with this eventually," Gellert stated baldly, in a tone that was very different from the one he used to speak about the Hallows. Albus looked at him, surprised, for a moment. They had never blatantly discussed what was going on between them before. Albus wasn't even sure what it was. All he knew was that he didn't want to muck it up by doing or saying something stupid and putting Gellert off him. But Gellert now had an eyebrow cocked at Albus accusingly, sexily. Blushing, Albus deposited the carrots into the stew and didn't say anything. He'd rather ignore it than risk it ending.

**A/N: I love this story. Its so much fun to juggle the serious depth of the Hallows conflict and the quirky, curious romance between these two. Albus/Gellert is my favorite pairing of all time, after Ron/Hermione. I hope you guys liked the way I wrote Albus. I always picture Dumbledore to be very tame and sweet maybe even shy. With age and experience, he became a little harder and confident.**


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